Recovering
by AnnabethLuna
Summary: After the war against Voldemort, so much has been left in shambles. Hogwarts is just a microcosm for all the lives and spirits that have been destroyed. However, amidst all the ruin, love is the one thing that will always remain intact. A series of oneshots about Neville and Luna and their journey to, together, build themselves back up.
1. Dream

**Okay, so, like I've mentioned, Neville/Luna is my ONE TRUE PAIRING, and I love them to death, though they're not technically canon. Even if they don't ****_end up together_**** end up together, I still like to imagine that they ****_were_**** together at some point. So these oneshots will most likely take place right after (maybe a few during) the war, in no particular order. In some cases they'll be chronological, in others not. This one, I think takes place just a couple of weeks after the final battle, when they've started repairing the castle. I imagine the repairs would take quite awhile, especially since in a lot of cases the damage was Dark magic. Anyway, after that long Author's Note, here is my disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Just my copies of the books.**

* * *

"Luna!"

She lay, a crumpled figure in the middle of the hall, her back arching and heaving under Bellatrix's wand – and she was screaming, a sort of awful, unearthly cross between a wail and a screech. He stood behind her, rooted to the spot, unable to move his legs, unable to do anything but stare, open-mouthed with horror, and scream –

"_Luna! _ LUNA!"

Yelling and kicking, he struggled out of the dream, eyes wide open, staring around him but seeing nothing, his breath heaving –

"Neville?"

Her soft voice penetrated the haze that his mind had become, reaching through his panic to draw him, panting, back to full consciousness. He could feel the growing grass prickling against his back, could see the sun hanging low in the sky, reflecting off the lake: He was on the Hogwarts grounds.

Luna sat beside him, on his right, with her knees drawn up to her chest. She had obviously been sitting in her favorite reflective pose (her arms wrapped around her legs, hugging them close to her body, and her head propped up on her knees, gazing into the distance), but had partially abandoned it for the moment – her left hand was now stroking his face, gently brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead, and her right was waving in the air above him. (It was her typical reaction to a bad dream; trying to get rid of the Wrackspurts which she claimed were causing it) Her face was turned down to him, filled with concern.

"Luna." He was still breathing hard, still shaking. He caught her hand in his, trying to reassure himself that she was still there, still alive. "You're okay."

"I am," she promised him. "You were just dreaming, that was all. It was just the Wrackspurts. Just a nightmare."

"But Bellatrix," he gasped, "she was torturing you" –

"I know." She squeezed his hand, as though assuring him that she was still there beside him. "But she's gone now. She's not coming back. For you or for me."

"Yes," he agreed, his panic ebbing away and his eyes half-closing again. They'd been working so hard the last few weeks, repairing the castle, and they were only on a brief break but he was so tired . . . but the idea of going to sleep again, after that dream . . .

"Here." As though reading his mind, Luna shifted position so that she was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside him, letting go of his hand to adjust her robes. "Lay your head in my lap." She brushed her thumb along his hairline again, her touch banishing any resistance, softening his whole body into jelly. "I won't let any more bad dreams reach you."

She placed both hands on his head, framing his face with her fingers, and, obligingly, he shifted over until he was even closer, lying perpendicular to where she was sitting. The fabric of her robes was stretched over her knees, and he rested his head in the middle – a trampoline-like hollow, surprisingly soft. It was nice; comfortable – he could feel the warmth of her body all around him; could breathe in her unique scent, all Luna. Her hands were soft, soothing, on his face – smoothing his hair back from his forehead and temples; tracing the shadows of stubble on his chin and cheeks and upper lip; gently caressing the lines of the scars that Amycus and Alecto had etched permanently into his face.

He could feel the wind as she waved one hand above his head, trying to shoo away all the Wrackspurts that might surround him. And, though he didn't believe in Wrackspurts, it seemed to be working. The memory of the dream was already fading, receding into the mist that his mind had become.

Faintly above him, he could hear her singing – a song he didn't recognize, something in a strange but beautiful language. "Sleep," she murmured when she was finished; the last sensation that he felt was the tickle of her hair, the pressure of her lips against his skin as she leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek, and then he sank gratefully into a dreamless oblivion.


	2. Constellation

They were lying close together, flat on their backs, looking up at the sky. The stars were out that night, particularly bright with the absence of clouds. It was a new moon, but Neville didn't need the moon – he had Luna, lying on the ground beside him.

The grass was slightly wet with dew, but the night was warm enough that it didn't matter. Besides, Luna had taught Neville enough that he no longer cared if his robes got a little wet.

"That's Sirius," said Luna softly, taking hold of Neville's wrist and directing his hand at a point in the sky. "That bright one, right there. The Dog Star."

Neville couldn't help but laugh, remembering what Ginny had told the two of them about Sirius Black's Animagus form. "How appropriate," he murmured.

"Yes." She twined her fingers through his in the air, bringing their hands down together to rest between them. Her hair was splayed out on the ground around her head, silvery in the dim light. "Very much so."

He turned his head to the side until he could meet her eyes, which were wide and clear, reflecting starlight. Slowly she disentangled her fingers from his and moved her hand to his neck, rolling over onto her side and resting her fingers gently right on the sensitive skin between his cheek and his ear. He shivered; goosebumps marched up his spine.

And then she leaned over, bridging the space between them, closed her eyes and kissed him; a long, lingering kiss that sent warmth tingling through his lips and rushing all the way through to the tips of his toes. His whole body was filled with starlight.

When she finally pulled away, she curled into him, nestling her head into the little hollow between his chin and his collarbone, burying her face into his chest, and they lay like that for a few moments, quietly, basking in each other's warmth.

Then Luna broke the silence.

"Neville?" She pulled away from him, rolling onto her back again. He felt suddenly cold where she had been, deprived of the warmth of her body.

"Yes?"

"Did you know that in Greek mythology, when a person had gained the gods' favor, they would put that person's image into the sky, as a constellation?" She pointed up into the stars, at the constellations that she had been showing them. "That's how the configurations got their names."

"No . . ." He wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. "I didn't know that."

"Well, I was thinking, even if humans can't hear their words anymore, that they would like that constellation there" – and she pointed up into the sky, at a group of indistinct stars – "to be for your parents."

"What constellation?" He felt, as he often did, as though his eyes couldn't see the same things that hers did. "And why my parents?"

"Look." Again she took hold of his wrist, guided his arm up into the sky. Holding onto him, she traced out the shape of a jagged heart between a few stars. "A heart," she said softly, "for their capacity to love."

"To love?" Neville knew he sounded bitter now; he couldn't help it. All he could picture was their blank faces, their empty eyes, whenever they looked at him. "How can they love me, when they don't even know who I am? How do I know they did love me, when I never even knew them?"

"They loved you, Neville." Her whisper was fierce, full of certainty. She cupped his chin in her hands; forced him to meet her gaze – her eyes were glistening. "So, so much. They still do, even if they don't know how to show it." She paused. "Even if you don't know how to see it."

Very suddenly, Neville's throat swelled up, closing right away. He closed his eyes; heat prickled behind the lids.

And then Luna was touching his face, running the pad of her thumb very gently under each eye, removing the warm wetness that had collected there. Then she leaned over and kissed him there, her lips resting for a moment in the hollow above first his left cheekbone, then his right. They lingered on his face for a moment longer, and suddenly Neville realized something.

He'd never really known what to feel about his parents. He hadn't known them – truly known them – for long enough to know that. But here he was with Luna – Luna, who he trusted; Luna, who knew him through and through, inside and out; Luna, who understood him better than anyone else ever had – and he knew exactly how he felt about her.

"Luna."

"Neville?" She drew back until she could meet his eyes. Hers were large, round, shining. Waiting.

Neville's throat felt suddenly dry, but he had to speak. "Luna, I" – He choked up suddenly, had to force the rest of the words through the lump in his throat. "Luna, I love you."

Nothing in her expression changed at first, but her eyes seemed to shine a little brighter. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, very lightly. This time, though, she kept her eyes open, locked on his, and Neville felt a shiver of rightness.

And then she pulled back just a bit, until they were nose to nose. "I know, Neville," she said first, softly, and then, "I love you, too."

"I know," he echoed, and then he leaned over and kissed her again, more intensely than before. And although his eyes were closed this time, although he was no longer looking at the sky at all, he thought he could still see Luna's constellation, the stars connected in the shape of a heart.

* * *

**Okay, so we are still chronological here. I don't know exactly when this takes place, but a few weeks after the final battle, not long after the previous one.**


	3. Impression

Neville was a basket case.

He was pacing up and down, back and forth on the ground outside the Hogwarts gates (the only place there where Apparition was possible), waiting for seven o'clock, when the two of them were supposed to leave.

For some reason it felt wrong that _he_ was so worried; it should be Luna who was the nervous wreck as she prepared to meet his grandmother, but Luna was never a nervous wreck. She was calm and unfazed as usual, and she was wearing her nicest robes – which, unfortunately, were neon green, so bright that it almost hurt Neville's eyes to look at them, and had the tendency to squawk loudly at random times. At least he'd been able to talk her out of the radish earrings.

"It's good to pace," she said serenely, following his movements with her eyes. She seemed indifferent to his distress. "It keeps the nargles away."

Neville barely heard it. He was too busy breaking out into a cold sweat. "Are you sure – maybe we should – have you changed" – He couldn't seem to force out enough words to finish a sentence.

She regarded him calmly, and then reached over and took his hand, stopping his pacing. "Neville," she said quietly, "we've been through a battle – no, a war together. We survived the Carrows, the Cruciatus Curse, Bellatrix Lestrange – Do you truly believe that your grandmother can break us apart?"

"You don't know her," mumbled Neville, looking down at his feet, feeling his face grow hot.

"No," she agreed. "I don't. But I need to. It's time for me to meet her."

"But maybe if we just waited a bit' –

"Neville, she's expecting me," Luna reminded him, squeezing his hand. "It would be rude if I were to back out now."

He didn't know why he was so nervous, really – it was just that, despite everything that had happened, his grandmother had always – and still – had the power to make him feel completely inadequate. If she disapproved of Luna, she would say so, might even give him an ultimatum, and he didn't want to take that risk, wasn't ready to lose either of them.

"Here." Luna reached around with her other hand, until she was pressing his right hand between both of hers. Her touch calmed him, just a little. "What's the worst that can happen? If your grandmother doesn't like me, will that automatically change your opinion on me?"

"No," he muttered, feeling, as he said it, that it was true. It helped, but not enough. "She just . . . she has this way of saying things, and I . . . well, I don't know what to say, ever. She can't change the way I feel about you, but she might . . . I don't know what she could do, but . . . just don't underestimate her."

Her eyes pierced him, seeming to look right through his to what lay beneath. "You know that people only have as much power over you as you allow them to have." She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "It doesn't matter what she says about me – if you don't want to believe her, you don't have to. You have the choice."

She released his hand, took his face in both of hers, and met his eyes. "I love you, Neville." He smiled slightly at those words, and she continued. "Your grandmother can't change that, no matter what you think. Besides," she added, and now she, too, was smiling, "I think I'll like her."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, almost surprised, except that nothing Luna said could surprise him anymore. But if he had to picture anyone exactly the opposite of Luna Lovegood, his grandmother would be the woman.

"She raised you, didn't she?"

Neville's mouth opened and closed, briefly speechless. Luna smiled and took his hand again. It was now two minutes before seven – gripping her tightly, Neville spun on the spot and pulled them both into the crushing blackness.

Seconds later, they appeared, gasping for air, on the street outside his grandmother's house. Luna leaned against Neville to catch her breath, and he hated feeling how light she was; hated that reminder of what had happened just a month ago. Almost unconsciously, he felt his grip on her tighten, and he wished that he couldn't still feel her ribs when he held her.

Reading his mind as usual, she gently ran her hands down his arms, leaving them feeling suddenly limp and boneless. His grip loosened immediately; his arms now rested around her waist rather than clutching it. She took his right hand in her left, brought it briefly to her lips. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's over. The worst is over."

She could have been talking about the Apparition, but he knew, meeting her eyes, that that wasn't what she meant. She was referring to the war, to the Carrows, to the cellar at Malfoy Manor – the worst was over.

And she was right – compared to that, his grandmother was nothing.

So he straightened up, suddenly feeling calmer and lighter, and started toward the door. And even if his grip on her hand _was_ a little tighter, she didn't mention it.

The door opened before they had reached it, and Gran stood in the door, dignified and proud. Her eyes swept once over Luna – over her overlong, straggly hair, over her very pale face, over her large, protuberant eyes and the dark circles beneath them, and over her bright green robes, which unfortunately chose that moment to let out a loud squawk. And then, Neville's grandmother's eyes flicked down to his and Luna's joined hands.

Her eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly; her lips tightened. In disapproval, Neville knew, even as she beckoned them to come in. And yet, at the same time Neville knew that she was seeing the wrong things, because she did not know Luna the way Neville did.

He knew that her hair had grown so long and thin because it hadn't been cut since before she'd been locked in the cellar. He knew, despite what she told him, that she barely slept or ate anymore, and that she'd regained almost none of the weight or color she'd lost at Malfoy Manor. He knew that bright colors were one of the things that made Luna happy these days; that she could hardly stand darkness anymore and no longer wore black. To him, instead of dreaminess and vacancy, her expression told of her intense strength of character, and her wisdom.

But his grandmother knew none of that.

"So you're Luna Lovegood," she stated, looking down at Luna with a calculating expression on her face. "The young woman with whom my grandson's been spending all his time these days."

At that, Neville felt a stab of guilt. He'd been working a lot over the last month, along with all the others, to rebuild Hogwarts after the final battle, and he'd been coming home later and later each night. Despite her prickly exterior, he knew that his grandmother was lonely with no one in the house, and he resolved to start spending more time with her.

"Yes," confirmed Luna, in her usual airy voice. "I'm Luna. And you're Mrs. Longbottom. It's very good to meet you." She reached out her hand to take Gran's, though it was lying limply at her side, and clasped it for a moment, not quite shaking but almost.

Gran looked a bit taken aback, but kept her composure. "Yes," she said, briefly grasping Luna's hand back and then releasing it. "Well."

"And I want you to know, Mrs. Longbottom," said Luna earnestly, "that I'm not going to try to impress you."

"You're" – Gran did a double take; Neville's eyes popped open. What exactly was Luna playing at? "I'm sorry?"

"Yes," continued Luna placidly. "I know that many people believe that they have to impress others and then attempt to create a false impression. But I don't want to offend your intelligence or your sensibilities by doing that." She paused to smile up at his completely nonplussed grandmother. "I plan on being exactly myself. You can even call me 'Loony' if you want. Many do."

At this her robes gave another loud squawk, and she smoothed them down before once again smiling pleasantly up at Gran, whose mouth was half-open. Despite the fact that she'd probably just destroyed her chances at having Gran like her, Neville felt a surge of affection for Luna. She was always completely honest about who she was, unashamed, and he loved her for it. He couldn't help squeezing her hand a little tighter; she switched her beam to him, lighting him up throughout.

"Miss Lovegood – Luna," said his gran, when she'd finally managed to close her mouth. "I hardly think I should offend my own sensibilities by calling you 'Loony.' Now, come in, for heaven's sake. Dinner is all ready."

And, though Neville never would have believed it, he saw his gran smile, just a bit, at Luna before she turned around and swept into the dining room.

Dinner went, all things considered, surprisingly smoothly. There was just one hitch, really, when Luna folded her napkin and laid it on the table, though her plate was still reasonably full. Gran looked at her with piercing eyes and asked her why she wasn't eating.

"I just – I'm just not so very hungry, Mrs. Longbottom," she replied. "It has nothing to do with the food – it was delicious." Her eyes were wide and obviously sincere, and although Gran looked curious, she didn't inquire further.

After Neville and his grandmother had finished eating, Gran took Luna and Neville into the sitting room. Once the two of them were seated on the couch – close enough together to hold hands; far enough apart to be polite to Gran – she went over to the chest of drawers in the corner and removed a photo album.

Neville almost gasped, but managed to hold it back. These were pictures of his parents, the really special ones that Gran only showed to people she truly liked. He had never imagined that Luna would progress so far with his grandmother in one evening.

Looking through these pictures was always full of mixed feelings for Neville – intense pride mingled with deep sadness and a feeling of inadequacy. This time, though, with Luna's hand in his, her warmth beside him, filling him, the inadequacy felt burned away, replaced by nothing but love.

After his gran had showed them a few of the pictures, Luna leaned forward and placed a hand over the album, fingers hovering just above the picture of Neville's parents – younger, healthier, with light in their eyes – holding him, as a baby. She looked up at Gran, met her eyes, and said, earnestly, "Mrs. Longbottom, I never knew your son or his wife, but if they are at least half as courageous or kind as their own son is, then I understand exactly why you are so proud of them."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Neville felt his eyes fill with tears. That was the highest praise anyone had ever given him; comparing his parents – his parents, who had done so much, who had sacrificed and braved so much for the world – to him, rather than the other way around. What Luna just said – he had never heard it before.

Gran looked shocked. For a moment, her eyes were wide and watery; her face lost its composure. She half-raised a shaking hand, lowered it again, swallowed hard. Then her face was back to its usual dignified mask.

"Yes," she said thickly. "Trust me, they were."

"I believe you," Luna assured her. Neville inhaled shakily, and he felt her hand on his face, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into her for just a moment; let his body relax and let her hold him up, and then he pulled back again, and his grandmother turned the page of the photo album.

When they had finished looking through the photos, when it had grown dark outside and the moon was high in the sky, Luna stood up. "I'm sorry to have to leave," she apologized, "but I'm to be back with my father at nightfall. We're planning to look at the moon and try to spot Chittering Starplunkers."

Gran seemed a bit taken aback at first, but she recovered nicely. "That's quite all right," she said, nodding. "You shouldn't keep your father waiting."

"I'll walk you out," offered Neville immediately, standing up as well and slipping his arm around Luna's shoulders. It seemed to fit perfectly there; she was just the right height and felt exactly right against him.

Luna turned to Neville's grandmother and extended her hand again. "It was so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom," she said, with the utmost sincerity. "I'm so glad to meet the woman who raised Neville."

"And I'm glad to meet the girl with whom he's so obviously enamored," responded his grandmother, smiling at Luna. Neville felt his cheeks grow warm, but at the same time he was shocked at how relaxed his grandmother had become in just a few short hours. Despite the initial impression, despite what he'd thought about Luna destroying her chances of getting his grandmother to like her, Gran herself had been completely charmed by Luna, something Neville had never seen before. It made him prouder of Luna than he could say.

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Longbottom, again."

"Yeah," mumbled Neville, "thanks, Gran. I'll be back inside in just a moment."

"That's fine, Neville." Gran smiled almost mischievously. "I'll just . . . draw the curtain, shall I?" She flicked her wand, and the curtains on the front window swished shut.

Neville stared at her openmouthed for a moment, and then he laced his fingers through Luna's and practically tugged her across the room. Her robes gave a particularly loud squawk just as she had reached the front door, and to his utter shock, Neville could hear his grandmother laughing as the door shut behind them.

Out on the street, he gazed at Luna in awe. "How did you do that?" he asked, dumbfounded, putting his arms around her and feeling her lean her head against his shoulder. "And I was so worried – and you somehow just" – He snapped his fingers, and Luna laughed.

"I didn't do anything," she said simply, pulling back so she could meet his eyes. "She was just more open-minded than either of us expected."

"If you say so." He shook his head, half-laughing, and leaned down to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Well, I guess you'd better go. You don't want to be late for your Shivering Starflonkers."

"Chittering Star_plunkers_," she corrected, "and no, I don't." She stretched up and kissed him back, on the mouth this time, letting her lips linger on his for an extra moment. Pulling away, she added, "And you should go in and talk to your grandmother. I think she's lonely. I think she misses you."

"You think she misses me?"

"Yes." Luna hugged him closer. "You've been working so hard these last few weeks, and everyone is very grateful for your help. But you shouldn't forget about your grandmother, either. She's your family, and she needs you, no matter how severe she might seem sometimes."

"I guess you're right." He pulled her tighter into his arms, pressing his face into her hair and inhaling her scent for a moment before lifting his head so he could speak clearly. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right? We're working again?"

"Of course." She nestled her head a little deeper into his chest; her hair spilled over where his arms were resting against her back. "Until tomorrow, then." She pulled away a little reluctantly. "And now, I really should go."

"All right," he sighed, releasing her; she started to walk away, into the street, where she could Disapparate. "Good night, then. I love you." As always, saying those words sent a little thrill through him.

Luna turned around suddenly, running back towards him and flinging her arms around his neck to kiss him one last time, enthusiastically. When she finally pulled away, Neville's arms fell to his sides, empty and suddenly cold. He watched her walk away, seeming to almost dance towards the street, a bright spot in the sudden darkness.

"I love you, too," she whispered, and her robes squawked in agreement.

When she Disapparated, he was left outside alone. Suddenly exhausted, he stood for a few moments, staring into the space where she had been standing, and then he turned around and walked inside.

"Back already?" His gran shot him that same mischievous smile as before. "I was expecting you to be a bit longer."

Neville shook his head in disbelief. Who was this woman, and what had she done with Gran. "N-no," he muttered, "I'm back now."

"So that's Luna Lovegood." Gran nodded slightly. She looked up at Neville, that rare smile still on her face. "I like her," she added decisively.

"So do I," murmured Neville. "So do I." In a sudden moment of decision, he lurched forward, over to Gran, and kissed her on the cheek – something he hadn't done in far too long. "I'm going to bed now, Gran," he said softly, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm glad you liked Luna."

"I did," she nodded. "Good night, Neville."

"Good night, Gran."

His head swirling with tiredness, Neville dragged himself across the room and up the stairs to his bedroom. Without even bothering to change into pajamas or brush his teeth, he fell into bed right away and closed his eyes.

A vision of Luna's face flashed into his head just before he fell asleep.


	4. Powder

**Okay, so this is obviously not in chronological order anymore . . . basically, these will be posted in the order in which I write them. And this is the earliest of all of them. The way I see it, Neville and Luna's relationship is still pretty new here, but also kind of intuitive . . . I see these two having a very emotional connection; understanding each other and knowing what to do. Also, I don't own either of them.**

* * *

It first happens a week after they start work.

Luna's group - consisting of her, Neville, Susan Bones, Dean Thomas, Hannah Abbott and Professor Flitwick – is working in a corridor in the castle, one that was almost completely collapsed in the battle. Shards of glass, winking like tiny stars that have fallen from the sky, litter the floor – the floor that is still there, that is; much of it has fallen completely through to the next level – and chips of stone poke at their feet as they wade across the floor, careful to avoid any cracks.

Madame Pomfrey was unsurprisingly able to mend the leg that Luna injured in the battle right away, but it's still a little stiff, she still limps slightly when she walks. Neville's hand rests gently behind her shoulder, steadying her whenever her stride wavers, helping her step over cracks in the floor and piles of glass.

It's such a tremendous job that no one knows how to begin; whether they should start by repairing the floor or the windows or the sides of the castle – it'll require many spells, one on top of the other, and will undoubtedly take more than just the one day. They're all simply standing there, surveying the area, when Dean bends down and picks something up from the floor.

"What's this?" he asks, turning over a small package in his hand. The wrapping is black, its contents seem to sift around, and all in a moment, Luna knows what it is. But there isn't any time to stop him before he's torn open the package, and their corridor is plunged in darkness.

It hits Luna hard.

All at once she's back in the cellar; back in the pitch-blackness; back in the days of feeling her way around by running a hand along every wall, feeling into the corners, listening in order to know where she is and where anything else might possibly be; back in the days of the crushing feeling of helplessness, of the horrible noises coming from above, hearing screams and cackling and that awful, high, cold voice –

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," whispers someone, but just knowing what the darkness is is not enough to pull her out of it; she stands, rooted to the spot, listening to the voices echoing through her head –

"We have to get out of this corridor, then," says Susan's voice, "until it wears off, at least. There's no way we can see through this powder until it's gone, except with Dark objects, and I hope no one here has any of those." There is almost a note of accusation in her voice, but Luna can't pay any attention to that.

_No way we can see through this darkness._

Her eyes are wide, fixed – she can feel her pupils dilating, straining to adjust, to make out some light, though it's no use. She can't even make out faint outlines; only voices and shuffling indicate where everyone is. Unbidden, a low moan escapes her.

"Luna?" Neville's hand falls onto her shoulder; he presses into her from behind, almost stumbling, but still there, still solid. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she chokes out, gasping, practically hyperventilating, with fast breaths tearing at her throat; she struggles to hold them back, to focus on Neville's hand on her shoulder; his warmth against her back. "Fine." She bites her lip, her tongue, to force back the cry threatening to escape.

"Are you sure?" Another voice joins in, a different set of feet slowly moving in her direction. Dean. He must remember how she clutched him in the tunnel, how her hands tightened around his arm in the darkness of the passage into Hogwarts.

"I'm quite all right," she manages to force out. She cannot spend the rest of her life flinching from darkness. Once, she thought of it as welcoming, a large place in which ideas could breed and new possibilities arise. Darkness seemed to open things up, to make them larger, at the same time more and less real. And now, it has become only a prison to her – what a loss.

"Still, we should get out of here," says Hannah. "We can't work until the darkness has cleared, and that could take a long time. We might have to see Professor McGonagall about a different assignment today."

"You're quite right, Miss Abbott," Professor Flitwick chimes in. "I will speak with Minerva straightaway – now, does anyone here know which way the door is?"

The corridor is soon full of the sounds of careful footsteps edging around; people moving carefully, feeling their way around so that they won't fall or injure themselves. Neville takes Luna's hand and starts to guide her to the others, but she tugs on it, holds him back.

"Wait," she whispers. "Please."

"What is it?" He stops; she can feel him turning around to face her. Their hands reach across the space between them, clasping in the middle. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other; he, too, it seems, is uncomfortable in the darkness.

She says nothing – she doesn't quite know if it's simply because she can't force words from her choked throat, or because it doesn't need to be said. Instead, she reaches forward, slips her fingers from his and wraps her arms tightly around his waist. She feels so afraid by herself in the blackness – but as long as he is with her, then at least she won't be alone.

His body is warm and solid against hers; he reaches out and pulls her closer, practically crushing her against him, and she realizes that despite the pressure on her lungs, she can breathe easier. She presses her face into his neck, her chin resting comfortably against his collarbone. His skin grows warm, fever-hot against hers, but she doesn't move. Her face collects condensation from his neck, their sweat mingling, until she feels that they are one person rather than two.

There are still faint noises; the others in the group are still slowly edging their way out of the corridor. The light is tempting, the darkness still threatening to overwhelm her, but she knows that she will not always be able to escape. She must learn to cope, learn to exist in the darkness. And if she closes her eyes and concentrates on the feeling of Neville's neck and shoulder against her head, his arms resting against her sides, his hands at her back, she can almost forget everything.

Then he speaks.

"Hey," he says; she can feel the words vibrating in his throat, but she doesn't move, doesn't pull her head away. "Luna."

He draws back just slightly; the darkness sweeps down on her again in waves, seeming to fill the space between them, the cellar threatening to crush her again, but then his thumbs are on her chin, guiding it upward.

And then he kisses her.

His lips seal to hers, soft and gentle; his arms tug her to him, closer even than they were before; his hands slide into her hair and all her thoughts melt away.

The fear is gone, the pain is gone, the choking lump in her throat and the shaking body and the cold hands – it has all disappeared. All that exists is Neville, his warmth, his tenderness, his love, _him._ Nothing more – but nothing less, either.

Maybe she can't face darkness on her own just yet. Maybe the cellar left some scars that won't heal.

But as long as she has Neville, as long as he is there, solid and comforting, she feels that she could take on anything.


	5. Ginny

Ginny barged into Neville's dormitory on the first day back from Christmas break.

He wasn't surprised; had, in fact, been expecting it – Ginny and the older Gryffindors often met in the seventh-year boys' dormitory this year for pre- and post-DA meeting discussions, as it was the only place where they could all go away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers without leaving Gryffindor Tower. And they _definitely_ needed to talk now.

However, this time was somewhat different. Ginny came in without knocking, flinging the door to the side with unnecessary force; ripped aside his curtains to sit on his bed without invitation; and scanned the room, her eyes stopping to rest on Seamus, who was sitting over on his own bed. "Finnigan," she ordered. "Out."

Seamus looked surprised, but he could obviously tell from the look on Ginny's face that now was not the time to argue. "All right," he said in a conciliatory tone, holding his hands up as he left the room. Neville heard his footsteps on the stairs as he headed down to the common room.

Then Ginny looked at Neville. "We need to talk."

"I know." Neville's shoulders slumped miserably. The rest of the train ride after Luna was dragged from the compartment had been spent in shocked silence, and they hadn't been able to communicate throughout the holidays for fear of their owls being intercepted or their Floo connection cut. Now, though, now that they were back at Hogwarts, they needed to discuss it.

"Not about that, not right now," interrupted Ginny. "Well, sort of, but not exactly – okay, Longbottom, I'm a girl, all right? And I'm one of your best friends. And now you're going to tell me _exactly_ what that little scene in the compartment was all about."

"What little scene?" Neville feigned ignorance, settling down on the bed beside her but groaning inwardly. He knew that with Ginny, evasion didn't help anything.

"You know exactly what little scene I'm talking about," snapped Ginny. She raised her eyebrows – in irritation or in suggestion, Neville wasn't sure. "Right before they took her. It was kind of hard to miss, Neville. Now, tell me . . . was that the first time you two have kissed?"

Neville remembered it vividly – remembered his own horror and disbelief that she was actually going to be _taken_; remembered the footsteps coming closer to them, down the train; remembered Luna standing up, telling them not to fight . . . but most of all, he remembered her, right before the Death Eaters blasted open their compartment door, leaning down to press her lips against his.

But . . . "No," he admitted, looking down at his bed and wrapping a loose thread around his finger, tugging it further out of the bedspread. "No, it wasn't."

"I _knew _it!" Ginny whooped, punched the air in elation. "So when was the first time?" Her eyes were alight, a mixture of accusation and excitement. "Have you two been sneaking around behind my back all year?"

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. The thread snapped off in his hand; he poked his finger into the hole left behind in the bedspread. "The first time was right after the funeral, okay?" He forestalled Ginny's next question. "And that was the only other time." Heat was rising in his cheeks just saying this, just remembering it.

Ginny's eyebrows pulled together. "But why didn't you" –

"I don't know," he said heavily. "We just . . . never talked about it. We had . . . more important things on our minds."

"Yeah." Ginny's face fell, her eyes dulling again. "I guess so." She leaned back until she was lying on her back on Neville's bed with her hair hanging off the edge, almost touching the floor. The flaming red looked strange, almost washed out, against the deep crimson bedspread. "More important things . . . and I guess we have more important things to discuss right now, but . . ."

"I know." Neville understood. Maybe if they didn't talk about how Luna had been taken, if he could just let Ginny continue interrogating him, then they could keep the denial going; stave off reality just a bit longer. "Ask away."

For the first time that day, a grin spread across Ginny's face. "Gladly."


	6. The Burrow

Strange, but, Neville realized, he'd never been to the Burrow before.

He'd heard of it, sure, when Harry and Ron had been exchanging stories from the summer on the Hogwarts Express. And he'd known of the Weasleys, or course. Though his family had never cared about being pureblood; when you were a pureblood family, you knew the other ones. That was just how it went. But despite all that, he'd never actually visited Ron's house before.

Glancing around, he checked to make sure that the house he had arrived at matched Ron's descriptions. Small, slightly leaning but with multiple stories; a sprawling, haphazard garden full of gnomes; random chickens darting around the yard, some even venturing as close to his feet –

It sounded about right.

For some reason slightly nervous, Neville made his way towards the door, avoiding any stray gnomes and chickens which might happen to cross his path, and knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, and Mrs. Weasley stood in the door, beaming at him. "Hello, Neville, dear," she greeted him, ushering him inside. "Come in – the others are in the living room." Any apprehension he might have had melted away immediately at her warm smile.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." He shrugged, smiling a little self-consciously, and followed her inside.

The other five were already there, waiting only on him. Harry and Ginny were squashed together in an armchair, looking not bothered at all by the close quarters. Hermione sat on one end of the loveseat in the room with her legs curled up to her sides; Ron was sprawled out on the floor, his legs splayed as though he were making a snow angel, and with one hand reaching up to the couch to hold Hermione's. And Luna perched on the other end of Hermione's loveseat, hugging her knees to her chest. When her eyes met his, she smiled and he forgot the rest of the room for a moment.

"Hi, Neville," said Ginny from the armchair, drawing Neville's eyes to her, the moment evaporated. She waved, making no move to extricate herself from Harry. "We were just wondering what was taking you so long."

"Well," he started, shifting slightly uncomfortably – he never would get over that social awkwardness, "I just – I just wanted to double-check" –

"Relax, Neville." Hermione smiled at him from the loveseat. "She's just teasing. We're glad you're here."

"Yeah," agreed Ron from the floor. "Hello again, mate."

Neville laughed. "Again" was right – they had only just seen one another the day before, working some more on the castle. It was then that he and Luna had been invited to join the other four at the Burrow the next day.

"I'd get up," said Harry, pulling Ginny a little closer to him in the chair (an impressive feat), "but frankly, I think I'm happier where I am just now."

Ron scowled, but didn't get up, obviously deciding to let it slide for the moment. Neville shook his head slightly, turning back to Luna.

She said nothing; merely smiled at him, her eyes large and luminous. Sometimes he felt she could speak to him without words, or maybe that words were insufficient to say what passed between them. But he felt his insides turn soft merely from that look in her eyes.

There was one more armchair free, across from Luna's and Hermione's sofa. Neville settled into it, and Ron, at his feet, waved his free arm at the doorway.

"There's pumpkin juice there," he said, "and goblets. Mum said she'd bring in some snacks in a bit."

"Great, thanks," said Neville, standing again. He took a goblet from the tray he hadn't noticed until Ron pointed it out, poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Taking a sip, he returned to his chair and sank back into it.

"You know," said Ginny thoughtfully, breaking the silence, "I was just thinking how nice it is to be able to sit here together and _not_ have anything urgent to talk about."

Hermione laughed. "I think the last time we were able to do anything close to this was our sixth year, just after you two started going out."

"Yeah." Harry started to snicker. "Did you ever actually tell Romilda Vane about Ron's 'tattoo'?" He drew quotation marks in the air with his fingers as he spoke.

"No, you did _not_!" Ron twisted his head around in a very uncomfortable-looking manner to glare at his sister.

She shrugged. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." A mischievous smile played over her face.

As their strange conversation continued, Neville, who had no idea what they were talking about (and was not particularly inclined to ask), turned to face Luna again. She shrugged as though to say that she didn't know either; her shoulders rose above her knees but that soft smile was spreading across her face again, seeming to glow. He felt the corners of his mouth curve up to mirror hers. She no longer needed to touch him, or even speak, to make his whole body go limp.

And then Mrs. Weasley bustled in, temporarily ending all conversation. She held her wand aloft, balancing a tray in the air before her.

"Here's something to eat for you all," she said, Summoning a small table with a flick of her wand and placing the tray on top of it. With another sweep of the wand she set the table down in the middle of the floor, just next to Ron's head.

"Thanks, Mum," chorused Ron and Ginny. The others chimed in as well, adding their thanks.

"Oh, it's no trouble," she assured them, departing.

"Excellent," Ron said, reaching up from the floor to grope on the table. He didn't even need to move any other part of his body to get the food; however, there was a swarm as the others all stood up to gather around the tray. It was under cover of this motion that Luna slipped out.

Neville wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been so attuned to her as it was, if he hadn't been looking toward her anyway. But he was looking at her, and he watched her stand up with the others; however, instead of joining the swarm to the food, she slipped out the door.

He hesitated at first – she could have just needed the bathroom, or some other perfectly normal reason to leave. But for some reason, he didn't think that that was it.

So, debating only for a moment, he stood up as well, and followed her out.

At first he didn't know where she'd gone, and stood helplessly in the doorway for a moment, looking around. But then he heard faint voices somewhere off to his right, and, turning, he found a doorway leading to the kitchen.

When he peeked inside, he saw Luna standing in the middle of the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. The older woman was crying; her face gleaming with tears, her quiet sobs barely audible. Luna held both of her hands, was speaking to her in a low voice. Neville couldn't hear what she said.

Quietly, he withdrew from the door, retreating to the entrance to the living room and waiting for her there.

She exited the kitchen not long after, wiping her own eyes. When she caught sight of him, she gave him a rather watery smile, reaching out for his hand and slipping her fingers through his.

"What were you talking about?" he asked, unable to help his curiosity.

When she spoke, her voice was its usual dreamy tone, with no sign of the tears glistening in her eyes. "Fred," she said simply, squeezing his hand.

Just the name of the other Weasley twin hit Neville hard – it might have been the most devastating loss of all, though it was so hard to count those these days. He hadn't seen George at all since the battle – and, truth be told, he was a little afraid to.

"I just wanted to tell Mrs. Weasley that I lost my mother," continued Luna earnestly, "and that I've heard her voice behind the Veil. That I know they aren't so far from us, after all." Her voice remained steady, was almost knowing, as she faced Neville directly, pierced him with her eyes. "None of them are."

How did she do it? he wondered, as always. How did she always know exactly what he was thinking, exactly what to say? He couldn't say anything; instead, he just held on to her, pressing her one hand between both of his. Sometimes, he felt as though her touch was the only thing keeping him upright.

"No," he managed. "No, I guess they aren't."

She let go of his hand and pulled him close, resting her head against his shoulder. "Don't you forget it, either," she whispered.

"I won't," he promised.

When she drew away, he felt suddenly off-balance, swaying for a moment on his feet before regaining control. He took a deep breath, composing himself.

"Shall we go back in?" she suggested. "The others will be wondering where we've got to."

Neville nodded reluctantly, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. "I suppose we should."

But as she turned to open the door, he reached for her one last time, turning her back around to face him. They moved almost together, in synchronization; Neville drawing her closer and leaning in, kissing her softly on the lips. They closed their eyes at the same time, melting together like two flavors of ice cream – an unusual combination, perhaps, but for them, it was perfect. And when they separated this time, her warmth stayed with him even as he pushed open the door to enter the room.

"Well, hello again, you two," Ginny greeted them, her eyes twinkling. "We didn't expect to see you again for awhile."

"Where _did_ you two sneak off to?" Harry was grinning; Ron reached across the floor to halfheartedly nudge Neville's foot with his hand. Luna was back on the loveseat, curling up into the corner under Hermione's half-accusing, half-laughing eyes.

Neville dropped back into his armchair. Across the room, his eyes met hers; she shrugged and smiled slightly. He felt suddenly light, as though someone had just cast a Hover Charm on him. But she was better than any charm.

Let the others laugh if they wanted; Neville knew what they were thinking – and let them think it. He didn't care.

"Oh, nowhere," he answered.

* * *

**Oookay, so in terms of order - I'm honestly not exactly sure where this fits in. I would say between the first and second oneshots . . . or something like that. Meh. Enjoy! :)**


	7. Rain

The clouds were thick and gray overhead, heavy and threatening, and honestly, after the year they'd had, it was hard not to see everything as a threat. Neville looked up at the sky as the clouds seemed to draw even closer together, looming above them – he wondered if he'd ever get used to the idea that they were really safe now –

"Neville?"

The soft voice came from behind him; he turned to face her just as, with a crack of thunder, the rain began.

"Luna."

He took both of her hands, met her eyes. They were the same color as the rain; sometimes, it was hard to identify them as a color at all. As he watched, she tilted her head backwards, looking up at the sky; rain ran down her cheeks, pushing her hair back from her face. "Isn't it strange," she mused, "sometimes, to think that days like these will still happen?"

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, following her gaze. Blinking rain out of his eyes, he saw a bolt of lightning split the sky; his hair stood on end. "It feels like it's still threatening us, like it's a sign that he's still here."

"Exactly." Her hair was already soaking wet, streaming down her back; when she looked at him, her eyes looked bigger than usual. "It's hard to believe he's really gone – sometimes it seems that I can still feel his shadow hanging over us, hear his voice upstairs . . ." Her voice trailed off; she shivered a little.

"Are you cold?" He drew her closer to him; wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She still felt so small and light against him.

"A little," she murmured. "But only on the inside." She leaned closer into him, letting him hold her even tighter. "It helps, though – having you here. You warm me up."

"You, too." It was true, he thought; having her there with him, knowing that there was someone with him, someone who understood him and was unconditionally on his side . . . it did seem to warm him. The rain pounded down on him, dripping through his hair and down his neck, soaking his robes, but he didn't feel it so much anymore.

"I think we're going home early today, because of the rain." She pointed with one hand; indistinct figures were moving through the mist, unquestionably towards the entrance, leaving the grounds. As he watched, the figures started disappearing – she was right.

"Short day of work, today," he remarked.

"I think maybe everyone feels this, about the weather." Luna let her hand drop to her side again; as the rain's drumming increased, her voice sounded quieter. "Maybe his shadow is hanging over all of us, more than we'd like to think – more than we acknowledge."

"Mmm." He pulled her closer. "Maybe so."

"Longbottom!" A tall, slim shape was approaching; the voice was faint, but they could hear that it belonged to Professor McGonagall. "Miss Lovegood? You're free to go, should you wish it. Work is finished for the day."

"Thank you, Professor," said Luna.

She was pressed so close to him that he could feel the slight vibrations as she spoke, and for some reason it filled him with a strange giddiness. "Yeah," he echoed, "thanks, Professor McGonagall."

"Not at all, Longbottom, not at all." It was hard to make out her face, but Neville thought she was giving him a searching glance; he wasn't sure why. And then she turned and walked away, somehow managing to remain dignified despite the still-pouring rain.

"Do you suppose we should go?" Luna made no move to leave; instead, she leaned back, resting her head against his chest.

"I don't want to, just yet," he admitted. He could feel her pulse, where her neck was pressed into his upper arms. "I don't want to say goodbye to you." Sometimes, he felt that after all that had happened, she was the only reason he was able to keep going on, to stay sane, to keep believing in good. Often, at night he would lie awake waiting until the next day, until he could see her again.

"Well . . ." She paused; twisted around in his arms until she was facing him. Her eyes were serious. "If you'd like, you can come home with me. My father would like to meet you, and as I've met your grandmother . . ." She shrugged; her shoulders moved up and down his arms.

"I" – he hesitated – "meet your father? He wants to meet me?" He tried to disguise the blind panic suddenly rushing through him at this idea. He'd never met a girl's parents before, especially not her father, and as Luna's father was the editor of the Quibbler, it wasn't likely that Neville would have anything to say . . .

She seemed to read his mind; her eyes grew wider. "If you don't feel comfortable with it, I understand." It was almost worse that he knew she did understand, that she wouldn't hold it against him, because if there was one thing Luna Lovegood simply could not seem to comprehend, it was resentment . . .

But then . . .

Neville remembered that day, the final battle, six weeks ago, now. He remembered holding the sword of Gryffindor, shocked and dazed and bewildered, remembered hearing from everyone that he'd been so brave, and still not feeling it . . . but then, if he was so brave, then he could face Luna's father. And then he flashed back to two weeks ago, to Luna meeting his grandmother, and how afraid he had been, and how Luna had handled it beautifully . . .

Mr. Lovegood could not be harder to impress than his grandmother. And Neville was a Gryffindor. And – and if he went with her –

If he went with her, he'd get to see her for that much longer.

"Sure," he said, holding her tighter, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth, "sure, I'll come with you."

* * *

**This section will have multiple parts; this is just the intro, so to speak. Sorry I haven't updated in awhile - life has been crazy, but now I'm hopefully back. And I still don't own Harry Potter.**


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